


Goodnight wench

by Zeta_Mei



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 'cause everybody needs somebody to love, Brienne is Brienne, Fluff and Smut, Fluff apparently without Plot, For a hand of gold is always cold but a woman's hands are warm, Jaime is hateful but there are no men like him, Just a little truce, Sharing a bed in a winter night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeta_Mei/pseuds/Zeta_Mei
Summary: A lullaby from Roma, for a wench and her Kingslayer.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29





	Goodnight wench

“Good night, wench.”

This was his favourite moment, the moment in which he was warm and comfortable and, for a few hours, he could fill the blank between the gold lion on the crimson shield on top and the white shield at the bottom with whatever he chose to dream. Yet, this night the wicked maid had other plans.

“I believe you, Jaime”, she started bleating, drumming her long fingers on his bare chest and interrupting his thoughts, “about, well, you know.”

“No, I don’t know and I don’t care. Shut up and sleep, wench.” _To dream, I need you to be close to me, and close still isn’t enough. You must be quiet, my lady._

“I just wanted you to know that I know…”

“… how to bother me, yet not how to speak in decent way. Sleep over it, blabber wench.”

“…that the vows you took are important to you, Jaime, no matter what they can think about it.”

“Gods, Brienne, are you keeping me awaken only to say this sort of knightly bullshit?”

“You’re hateful”, she retorted tediously, for the seventy-seventh time of the week, rolling with all her freckles till her side of the bed, and this was clearly unfair, and allowed the night chill filling the empty space between them.

“Fuck, wench, the blanket is frozen, and summer is over… all right, you won, I thank you for having stunned me…”, bracing on his good arm, he pressed cautiously his stump to her back and waited until she hinted at turning again her thick head towards him, “…with your pretty shitty things”, he chuckled and parred her elbow before it can ruin his stomach and his good mood. “Come on, wench, I said ‘pretty’ and ‘thank you’…”

Her eyes shone with mistrust in the dark room, and her little, round breasts were rising and falling rapidly underneath the thin linen, like waves preparing to storm an innocent cliff.

“This is my side of the bed, ser”, she claimed, stiffening.

“Mine, now. I took it as a compensation, for you broke the goodnight law. Good night, little flower.”

“What...”

“You broke it again, wench”, he smiled, stealing the pillow from under Brienne’s thick head, “Good night among the stars and the room.”

“Don’t know what you’re trying to do”, she protested, struggling to get free from the locks which had fell on her stubborn face, “just end this stupid game of yours.”

“Third break. I warn you, my starry lady, next time you’ll dare to speak after the good night, I’ll take your shirt off.”

“You’d never dare…”

“Good night, little penny.”

The not-so-little penny of white gold shut her indignant mouth and said nothing more, to Jaime’s displeasure. As a cheating child, she had closed her eyelids to pretend that he wasn’t there and that she hadn’t lost the skirmish.

He let his glance linger on those swollen lips of her, which were surely red like her flushed cheeks, under the grey veil that the night has set on them, and he wondered - wondered if the vows those lips had brought to life were important for the honourable Maid of Tarth, like they might be important for the Kingslayer, sometimes, in an odd, blue way, but not always or to the end of time, like a happy-ever-after lie. _All vows, even the ones you’ve been forced to say with a sword at your throat, who cares if they’ve been spat in a filthy cell or murmured in a snowy Sept…_ For once, both the heads of the wretched imp living in Jaime’s mind nodded in agreement, suggesting the foolish knight to lean and ask the maiden not-so-fair, in the only way he had. 

_No matter what they can think… is it really what you believe, wench?_ Smiling a witting smile _,_ Jaime shook his golden curls and sneaked in her arms until he settled at ease on her broad shoulder, whilst she snorted and squeaked, feigning to flee away. _You’re such an oaf, Brienne, don’t you realize you can’t bluff with the king of liars? And, worse, you’re so stupid not to understand that it matters, it has always mattered, it will always matter what the others think, and do to stupid, blind wenches. Hell is the others._

It took a while, but finally she relaxed, her big hand on his slim waist. It was a bit weird, because it was always the way around, his elegant hand on her thick waist, in their absurd normality made of ambushes and fights, but Jaime felt satisfied all the same.

Almost satisfied.

There was something the rude wench had forgotten, so he begun drumming his stump and his phantom fingers on the smooth skin of her neck, until she recalled, at last.

“Good night, Jaime”, she sighed.

_Good night, Brienne. This night is for you._

**Author's Note:**

> Grazie Roma, for all the years of magic and music you gifted me.  
> ______________  
> Quotes from:  
> Buonanotte, Fiorellino - Francesco De Gregori


End file.
